


Cigarette Daydreams

by TheGIrlAnachronism



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drug Use, drug induced fantasy, sort of, student/teacher dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGIrlAnachronism/pseuds/TheGIrlAnachronism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jesse watches as the ribbons of smoke lazily curl and climb from the tip of his cigarette, eventually dissipating in the breeze coming from the ceiling fan. He watches the blades spin round and round slowly. It's all more interesting than the black and white shit on TV. He'd change the channel but he has no clue where the hell the remote is and he sure as fuck ain't getting up to look for the damn thing.<i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigarette Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Cage the Elephant song.
> 
> Not beta read, so sorry for any mistakes.

Jesse watches as the ribbons of smoke lazily curl and climb from the tip of his cigarette, eventually dissipating in the breeze coming from the ceiling fan. He watches the blades spin round and round slowly. It's all more interesting than the black and white shit on TV. He'd change the channel but he has no clue where the hell the remote is and he sure as fuck ain't getting up to look for the damn thing. He takes a deep drag off his cigarette, blows out a thick plume of smoke. He isn't too bothered really. He's much too mellow right now. Whatever the fuck those pills were he got from that kid at school are giving him a nice buzz. He feels very chill at the moment.

 

The old timey voices squawk quietly from the television. They speak too fast. Not that Jesse would be able to understand what the fuck they were talking about if they slowed down. It all sounds like a lot of nonsense. A sigh slips from Jesse's lips and he turns his head away from the fascinating whirring of the ceiling fan, his eyes landing on the television screen. He perks up a bit, squinting at some dude on the screen with a mustache and glasses. He tilts his head, a small smile tugging on his lips as he thinks the guy kinda looks like his chemistry teacher.

 

He rolls over to fully face the TV and puts his cigarette out in a nearly empty Coke can. A chuckle escapes from his chest as the Mr. White lookalike slips on something, his long legs flying up in the air exaggeratedly. He imagines the actual Mr. White doing the same thing in the middle of class, all the students laughing their asses off. Jesse's smile widens. _Bitch would deserve it._

 

He thinks about the recent test that got handed back; his covered in so many red marks you'd think someone slit their wrist and bled all over it. Jesse had almost wanted to open a vein himself after the reaming he'd gotten from his parents about his less than stellar grades.

 

_Apply yourself._

 

Jesse's upper lip curls up in a sneer as he thinks about the admonishment Mr. White had written on one of his assignments.

 

“Yo, why don't you apply yourself to this, bitch!” Jesse mutters to an imaginary Mr. White, his hand reaching down to grope his own crotch. His words slip into a moan as he registers how good the sensation of his hand on his dick feels. These pills must be making him extra sensitive or some shit. He squeezes and tugs at himself, hips bucking up into his hand. He licks his lips as his cock swells.

 

“Mm, yeah,” Jesse moans, his head lolling back and eyes slipping closed.

 

“Apply yourself, Jesse.”

 

Jesse's eyes fly open. He blinks confoundedly at the man on the television screen. The one who had kinda looked like Mr. White was now a dead ringer for the man. No, not just a dead ringer; it fucking _was_ Mr. White.

 

“Yo, what the fuck?”

 

“You can do better than that,” Mr. White says, talking to Jesse from the TV screen. “ _Apply yourself._ ”

 

Jesse's mouth opens and closes. His brain flounders for something to say.

 

“Or do you need me to show you?” Mr. White's voice turns from the stern tone he uses in class to something much more sultry; it's almost a purr. One corner of his mouth curves up in a sexy grin and his tongue peeks out, running across his lips. Jesse's cock twitches. There is something knowing in Mr. White's smile as his hand reaches down and pops open the button on his trousers, one hand disappearing underneath the waistband.

 

Jesse's hands fumble with his own fly. Getting it open, Jesse plunges a hand into his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing erection.

 

Oh god. His bare hand feels _so fucking good_ on his uncovered cock.

 

“That's good,” Mr. White tells him. “You're getting better. Keep going. That's it.”

  
  
Mr. White isn't wearing a shirt now. Jesse has no recollection of when he must have taken it off. Not that he minds. Mr. White strokes his free hand up and down his chest and torso—the other still hidden under his trousers, working himself. Jesse watches the as the man tweaks his nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Jess snakes his own free hand up under his shirt and mirrors the action. Mr. White's hips are gyrating, bucking into his own hand. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth. His eyes are hooded; he's wearing a total 'fuck me' face. Jesse has seen the expression plenty of times directed at him by (usually drunk or high) girls at parties, and the look has never failed to spark Jesse's interest. Not even now. In fact Jesse doesn't think it has ever seemed hotter than it does right now displayed on the crinkly old face of his middle-aged _fucking_ _dude_ chemistry teacher.

 

 _Dude, this is seriously fucked,_ some part of his buzzed, horny as hell, brain manages to acknowledge. But the fact of it does nothing to deter Jesse's libido.

 

“Yes, that's good, Jesse,” Mr. White pants. “I knew you had it in you. Almost there.”

 

Jesse pumps himself faster. Pre-cum drips from the slit of his cock and he slicks it down over his shaft.

 

“You can do it, Jesse,” Mr. White encourages. “I know you can.”

 

Jesse cries out as hot cum spurts into his palm. His eyes squeeze shut tight, his face turning into his pillow, muffling the sound he makes. He pants as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, licking his dry lips. His eyes flutter open and when he looks at the TV screen Mr. White's image has vanished, replaced by the lookalike who is talking into one of those old phones. Jesse looks down at the floor. He reaches down to pick up a discarded t-shirt to clean himself off with. He lifts the shirt from the floor and sees the remote control had been underneath it. He wipes himself down and tosses the shirt back on the floor. He picks up the remote and clicks the TV off.

 

He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and lights one up. He turns over onto his back as he takes a drag. He blows out the smoke thinking he has to ask that guy what the hell those pills were. The smoke drifts upward, gets chopped up by the blades of the ceiling fan and fades away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!


End file.
